


Of the Flesh

by Roald_Seth



Category: Devil May Cry, Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Cannibalism, Canon Compliant Cannibalism, Committed Relationship, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29675955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roald_Seth/pseuds/Roald_Seth
Summary: Being a demon dating another demon made thing easier for the both of them. But, Roland’s demon side had some complications Dante did not know exactly how to handle. On the night of a full moon, Dante finds his partner, Roland, in an agonized, berserk state: one that causes the man to take a split form of both his human side and his demon side. Consumed by the thoughts and will of his demon, Roland tried to excuse himself from the equation as a way to spare Dante of the trouble. But, Dante has a different idea, and convinces Roland to stay with him during the night, thinking that he knows of a way to remedy the condition.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Roland (Digital Devil Saga), Dante/Roland
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Of the Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> This seemingly strange pairing had come about thanks to roleplay Discord, which my muse, Roland, had ended up dating another mun’s muse, Dante, because Roland decided to take a chance and entertain Dante’s flirtatious habits after a battle and having to devour some demons. Though I am a fan of both Digital Devil Saga and Devil May Cry, because this has roots in RP, the Dante of this story is a mesh between how I both see Dante and how someone else also muses Dante, which was interesting in itself trying to write. I hope that fans of both series, whether they like one or both of the source materials, are able to enjoy this crossover pairing that has stolen my heart. Thank you for taking the time to read my fic whatever your reasons may be. Enjoy.

It was 3:49am, but it was not like either of them knew it. Dante had woken in a bed that was not his because his partner to his side had started rustling and stirring about. Moonlight shone through the cracks of the closed window blinds of Roland’s room, leaving thin streaks and stripes of a chilled illumination across the floor and bed. It cascaded over his boyfriend’s restless body like rivers, and it was just enough light so that when Dante turned over to check on Roland, he was able to discern the motions were that of a someone seemingly writhing and contorting in agony. A faint, but lustrous, lurid golden glow decorated and flickered around the light fabric of the pillowcase and the pale skin of his partner’s bare face and shoulders.

The two of them had been together for months, having met together in a bar in a strange world that was each not their own home, but it was not until their secrets spilled out, when the two of them knew each other as both human and devil, where their relationship started truly budding. Dante was a half demon of his world, born from the legendary demon swordsman who liberated the human world by sealing of his own nether realm, so it was not all that surprising to him when Roland had first transformed—tuned, for Roland had corrected him once about the terminology—into a tall, monstrous creature of size and strength. His prowess in battle and feats of pure strength drew Dante to him like a moth to a flame—both intrigued and mesmerized, captivated and entranced. But, although they were similar, almost as if their forms were from the same world, their demons were subjected to different laws of life.

Dante knew that Roland dealt with bursts of time where his form was not controllable, where he would become an imperfect demon subjected to its primordial desires, the desire to consume flesh and blood of his enemies or allies alike. It had happened before, and it had happened before where Dante was caught in the crossfire. As Dante looked at his lover with groggy eyes and twisting features to will himself awake, he wonders if he would have to be pitted against him again.

“Hey, Ro,” Dante said—his voice cracking with shards of sleep—as a means to try and get Roland to focus his attention elsewhere, on him, Dante, on his, Dante’s, voice and person instead of what was the demon roaring inside. But, while Dante reached out to Roland, the agonized man lifted himself up and out of bed. It was a vain attempt to spare Dante from the threat before his sense and sensibility left him.

Standing up to the window, the light of the full moon cascaded around Roland’s naked torso, showing that his skin cadenced into a rich, golden honey color. His lower half was still dressed in combat fatigues, decorated by a forest camouflage print, from the day prior, but at least the jackboots had been kicked off and his glasses removed before Roland passed out. One of his socks had even been missing as well. On any other, regular night, Dante’s eyes would have been bewitched by the suggestive sight of the grey waistband of the man’s boxers peaking up higher on his waist than his pants, but this time, this night, Dante’s eyes were fixated hard at the inhuman glare his partner was giving him.

Solid, gold, gradated orbs shown brightly in the dark, void of any characteristics of the human eye. Though its menacing stare had no pupils to give the sense of direction to where Roland was looking, Dante knew deep in his heart his sight was fixated on him and him only because Roland’s expression twisted and turned into the same air he had encountered before in the outskirts of the cityscape. Like a beast upon its prey, Roland’s eyes glimmered with the hints of a fierce, insatiable hunger lurking deep within; jaws clenched tightly together behind closed lips in attempts to hold his own sanity still. It was a look Dante would forever know, and forever remember, instantly bringing him back to the day he saw it first.

There was not a single demon out at the edge of the city that day—not a single demon besides Dante. Be it human or demon, he was the only one available for feasting upon because he had followed Roland out there that fateful day for safekeeping. Thinking it was just a simple problem of him not having fed in a while, Dante had approached him to make sure he was alright, but if the form he took said anything about it, he was the farthest thing from it.

Roland’s skin had become a bold bronze color, and his right arm had taken the form that belonged not to him, but that of his demon side, that of his Avatar, Indra. The tan, crystalline structure looked large and awkward compared to his normal human sized features, for its size and length was proportional to the size of a muscular creature that stood eight to nine feet tall. Within its shape, there were bladed prongs and sword-like shafts that swung and protruded outward like an advanced mechanism controlled its form and function. With Dante so close, seemingly like a sitting duck, those blades extracted swiftly, ready to kill, slicing at Dante with extreme speed. But, Dante, a master mercenary and legendary Demon Hunter, parried each attack and kept a viable distance between himself and his berserk boyfriend with the swings of his grand broadsword, Rebellion.

Like Roland’s voice had run through a synthesizer, an inhuman, digitized roar of anger erupted from Roland’s agitated state as he ran in for an attack, but Dante locked blade with him. Steel and hard bone grinded together as the two pushed against each other’s strength and weight; Roland—being ever clever, because the weapon was a part of him, a part of his body—retracted his blade back into the armored casing which left an opening as Dante tumbled forward. Then, with a hard crack, Roland’s left, human fist contacted with Dante’s face. While his prey was down and staggered, Roland went for Dante’s flesh—the only thing that would seem to calm him down—barring his teeth like a snarling canine. But, Dante was too quick and kicked Roland back as he regained his ground.

The fight had dragged on in that fashion for ages, both of them growing tired, until a lone, true demon had graced their near life-and-death brawl with its presence. It was a sigh of relief for Dante as he tried to coax his partner into fighting, and feeding on, the demon instead of him. It took more effort than he was willing to give. But, in the end, it was the demon whose gamey flesh had satiated Indra’s inherent need to consume and devour. With his own set of human teeth, Roland sank them into the tough meat, and tore it apart with his incisors and canines. But, it was hard and awkward for him to do so since he did not have the razor sharp teeth of his Avatar.

Since that encounter, every now and then, Dante would find Roland at the same bar they had met in, slouched over one of the tables with enough empty glasses of alcohol on it to kill a regular man. It helped with the urges and imperfect transformations, the man had claimed, and that it was not in fact that old habit he promised to do away with coming back to him.

“I tried to eat you,” Roland would say; sometimes, on the times when he was still drunk, there was a bit of a pouting and sobbing added to it.

“We talked about this,” Dante would retort, “I’m not mad at you for it. You can’t help it really.”

Roland would calm himself down with a sign while he twisted and twirled an empty glass, wishing it had more liquor in it. He had confessed that the strange abnormalities happened on a cycle, one he was not aware of the specifics, and if they could figure out what it was, then perhaps they could plan ahead or do something about it. That was when Dante would chime in with a crass comment, saying he had the perfect idea on how to keep Indra in check during those times: by entertaining their already exuberant sex life.

Back in the bedroom, now was the time more than ever for the two of them to test the theory, so Dante flung the comforter of the bed off of himself and chased after Roland before he could leave.

“Come here, you,” Dante said, tempting fate and dealing with the devil, as he firmly grasped Roland’s wrist and tugged at it. The rest of the thought, however, was for him and him alone: ‘ _I’m not going to lose you to this_. _Not now. Not ever._ ’

Dante pulled Roland back over the bed and over himself, making them lock mouths together in a fit of passion on Dante’s half. With his free hand, he began to caress the outside of Roland’s thigh by gently running his hand up and down its length. The fabric was thick and tough against both of their skin, but they were too busy playing with each other’s mouths to really notice or care. But, Dante, ever eager, arched the flow of his strokes over the front of the thigh muscle, and pressed harder, to make sure Roland knew exactly where his hand was, as his palm and finger tips glided over to Roland’s groin.

“Gonna put my money where my mouth is,” Dante said, pulling his lips away from where they belong. His voice was hushed, held back, but hard, acute, and piercing like a sword’s tip, “You wanna try this, Ro?”

Roland—bracing himself over Dante like a canopy—gave a snarling, breathy reply in an arrogant tone.

“You said it yourself. Indra can’t do much if we’re too busy fucking all night.” —Roland lowered his head so that he could coo directly into Dante’s ear—“I’m all yours.”

Then, Roland clipped at Dante’s earlobe with his teeth before lining his lover’s jaw with chase kisses.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Dante said with a smirk. Wasting no time, he cupped the natural bulge in Roland’s crotch and rubbed at the coarse fabric of the man’s pants with the heel of his hand so that he could start to pleasure his partner slowly. Dante pressed at the side of Roland’s cock, fondling it until he was able to shift it so that he could rub at its tip in a rhythmic motion. The rhythm’s upward and downward pull would catch at the rim of the head, causing the man to breath heavier with every stroke. To silence himself, whatever parts of Roland that was left nipped and nibbled at Dante’s bottom lip as the two kissed forcefully together. The biting started as a light sting upon Dante’s lips, like pleasant shocks of pleasure, and Roland played with him for ages, whispering his lover’s name is a low, beastly growl in between breaths, but the flesh of Dante’s lips was raw and tender, made silky from saliva, and irresistibly fresh and juicy and alive. And his eyes were gold, not the storm-colored gray that Dante found himself looking at for months over.

Then, there was a sharp pain at the points where Roland was toying with last.

“Hey! Play nice,” Dante spat while he licked at his bottom lip, its reward being the oozing taste of iron. As much as Dante liked the rough housing, it was just different tonight. It was different circumstances. Dark blots of blood glistened from both the light of the moon and the light from his eyes upon Roland’s curled lips and grinning teeth. Like a beast that was savoring every last bit of its meal, the man licked at the surfaces of his mouth slowly, making sure he had gotten every last drop; his eyes burning holes into Dante as he did so. Dante stiffened and squirmed as he felt his own cock start to get hard. But, there was no relief for him.

Out of their sights and out of their minds, a wild, vein-like texture had begun to overtake Roland’s right arm. Its yellow glow was as bright as the gold of his eyes, and its formation looked like circuitry, harsh lines and sharp changes in direction. Although the two of them did not bother noticing, the heat emitting from the cellular reaction and transformation burned against the skin of Dante’s naked thigh—for he slept only in his boxers—as Roland placed his hand onto the meat there, hold onto it in a vice grip. His fingertips curled inward, grabbing hold of the flesh there in between his nails like a raptor’s talons upon its prey. Then, Roland, toying with Dante, forcefully spread his left leg out flush. Unable to maintain mastery over his urges, Dante started grinding his hips upon Roland’s spare leg that knelt in between his own two legs. He cursed Roland’s name under his breath because his boyfriend needed to lean his leg forward so that the meat of it would rub against the tip of his cock as a way to alleviate his own love and lust. But, again, there was no relief for him.

Instead, Roland lowered his face into the crease of Dante’s neck where it met his shoulders, and opened his mouth; saliva began to pool in its corners. His breath came in heavy bursts, heating the skin there upon his neck. It was there for the taking. Open, exposed, and vulnerable—it was an offering to a god that needed it to survive and stay whole, human-minded, and sensible. But, the logic dripped away from his cognizance like the strings of slaver running down from his mouth, so he forced his teeth shut, still bared like a beast that snarled against a threat, and retreated. The spittle lingered on Dante’s shoulder as a reminder of the risks they were taking.

For the first time in the night, Roland’s eyes shined with the sting of sympathy, as he looked Dante dead in the eye.

“Dante, maybe I should go before—”

Roland was cut off by a protest. Dante skillfully unbuttoning the fastener of hit pants and unzipped it so that the fabric gave more leeway for his hand that was sliding in underneath the other man’s boxers. In every way, in every form he took, Roland was desirable in Dante’s eyes. Wholly human, wholly devil, or somewhere in between, Dante yearned for his man in desires of the heart and of the flesh. His own breadth throbbed and ached because of the sheer sensuality he felt burning in his heart and groin. It made his words breathy.

“You can’t hurt me, Ro. You couldn’t even if you tried. Besides, I want you here”—Dante takes a hold of Roland’s cock, warm and hard in his hand—“with me. …Do you still want this?”

“Yes,” Roland said with a heavy breath.

Gently, Dante raises and lowers his hand against the elastic flesh around Roland’s penis. Since he did not apply any lubricant, even though he knew he should have, their skin against each other’s skin stuck together a bit, causing the recurrent motion to move with some difficulty.

Roland could not keep his lubricant in the nightstand next to the bed for it did not have a drawer. Instead it was in the top dresser drawer, and Dante did not want to risk leaving his lover unattended, even for the short amount of time it would have taken him to retrieve it. So, he tried his best not to get too rambunctious with his handiwork, but Roland began bucking his hips in rhythm with Dante’s motion in an effort to get more out of it. Then, releasing his grip upon Dante’s thigh, Roland uses his right hand to pull his remaining pieces of clothing down in effort to free up some space near Dante’s grasp around his girth. Dante gives a smirked chuckle, and begins to taunt Roland, acutely aware of his pleasure.

“Oh? You do want this, don’t you?”—Dante teased at the tip of the head in a circular motion, feeling the smooth stickiness of premature cum coming from the slit of Roland’s penis as he still goes at the shaft with the rest of his hand—“You want more?”

It was not just a question for Roland, for Dante himself was wishing with all hope that he would receive a little help with his own affair, but Roland was struggling with too many sensations at once. Dante, unable to wait, takes matters into his own hands. He tugs at the waistband of his own boxers, slips it down just enough to free his own half-hard cock, and begins to mimic the motions he was gifting Roland with on himself. It took a bit of concentration to pull off, but Dante was determined.

Opening his mouth wide, Roland tries to speak a thought out, rationalized response to the questions posed, but the only thing that comes out is a digitized roar. Its sound reverberated in his throat, giving it an undulated texture, that carried over into the deep moaning that soon followed. Desire and pleasure swirled around his body like a maelstrom in the sea, his convulsions, uncontrolled jerks and spasms of demonic delight, in the place of aquatic waves. As Dante began repeating the pattern he had done before, flipping the rim of the head back and forth, Roland takes a sharp inhale to try and steady himself, but it was of no use. Soon after, he exasperated a loud moan. Parts of it were human, the underlying effect the sultry sound of Roland’s pleasure; parts of it were unnatural, an overbearing distortion blanketing the sound with gargling and static.

Lost somewhere within the time that neither of them were paying attention to, Roland’s skin had altered again to a deeper hue, a rich bronze tone full of melanin. The golden glow of his eyes and arm made the color seem far more alive than just the natural blood-reddened arrangement because the lights flickered and dances with an electric pulse befitting of the god of thunder and lightning. Then, with the sparkling blue-white light of the full moon added to the array of the living colors, it made it looked like a scene from a fairy tale, like he was some wise, mythical entity that descended to earth to bless Dante.

But, that was because, in a sense, he was.

Although, it also worried Dante, because underneath that beauty there was still a mortal man, one with a unique identity apart from his Avatar, which he would happily fight and die for. The look on Roland’s face made him wonder if that day he met death was going to be that very night, eloped in a fit of passion, for Roland’s face had many creases around his nose and mouth from the scowl, and his brow was knotted tightly in a downwards flow. The corners of his eyes began to burn a bright red, while the center still stayed the same gold, and they could both hear the sound of bones breaking as they grew and reconfigured themselves as his right forearm began to shift and alter into that of a tan, crystalline-structured vajra.

Still being pleasured, Roland slams his tough, now armored hand onto the backboard of the bed; the wood creaking and popping just like his bones had as he grips the surface as best as he could with immense force. Again, Roland licks his lips, despite no blood being there.

“You, you want something to eat, huh?” Dante said behind clenched teeth. All of his sensuality had left his voice. It was replaced not with his normal cockiness, but with the shaking sound of desolation. Dante finished with a taunt: “Come and get some.”

On command, Roland strikes like lightning at the flesh of Dante’s shoulder with his bare teeth. Dante was in too close of proximity to have done anything, and having his hands busy fondling their erections was yet another folly. As Roland’s teeth sank into Dante’s meaty, delectable flesh, Dante lets out a loud hiss and cry of pain. Nothing about it was tampered with. No holding back, no additional emotions—it was just the stressed sound of agony. Then, burying the pain, Dante gave both of their cocks a few forceful tugs instead of letting go, hoping that, if he was nice, Indra would also play along like Roland wanted. His grip had gone from a satisfying hold to a firm grasp around their shafts.

Blood began to bubble and ooze around the points where Dante’s shoulder met Roland’s strong bite, but his tonged was forced backwards into his mouth, almost making him gag, because he forced too much meat into his mouth. Regardless, he held vigorously onto the flesh by hooking onto it with his incisors and canines. Roland rears his head backwards and tries to take a chunk of Dante’s flesh with him, but lets go before anything tears because Dante was right, Roland could not hurt him. It was Roland that was holding Indra back, his desires and wants, as he lets go of the appetizer to his next meal. But, he needed something, anything, any kind of substance; so that he could leave Dante unharmed as best as he could manage.

After a sizzling hiss, Roland began to lick up the blood from around the injury, and once it was all gone, he began sucking at the puncture wounds he had created. But, Dante’s own demonic side started healing the wounds at such a rapid pace that Roland was only able to enjoy it for a sparse few moments. Although, it went unnoticed. Roland sucked at the spot as if he was still receiving the delightful nectar specifically for him, and his incisors, slick with saliva, grazed against the healed flesh as if he could scratch the surface to receive more. Dante bit at his bottom lip as the heat in his groin went from a small kindle to a steady fire.

A mumble escapes Dante’s lips, its form pleading for Roland. He repeated his boyfriend’s name over and over both in desire that he wanted him and affirmation that he was still there with him, and that it was not Indra in his place.

“Dante,” Roland finally mutters out, but it was not at all reassuring. Again, Dante’s shoulder becomes his feasting ground as he pulls more flesh and blood from it. This time he did not take so much of it in his mouth, so he was able to lick and coddle the blood endlessly as the wound was not able to heal around his teeth. But, unlike last time, Roland pulled hard at the skin in between his teeth and ripped a section of his flesh clean off—gnawing and biting at it, but never chewing.

Pain erupted from the point of his shoulder, but this time, prepared for it, Dante only gave a slight groan of protest; although he did also bite his own lip clean through, filling his mouth with the dark, metallic-tasting liquid. The longer he let Roland feed, the more it dribbled down over his chin and onto his tongue. He lied there on the bed, and he would have been motionless if he still were not trying to jerk Roland and himself off. His head collapsed in the pillow as Roland still straddled over him, letting everything just crash over him like tumbling brick building, and he stared into those glowing red and golden eyes that burned so brightly in the dark.

They blinked a few times before Roland swallowed the piece of meat whole.

Minutes went buy with nothing but Dante stroking at both of their full lengths. However, the vigor that once was there was now gone. A sinking feeling formed in his gut as he thinks about how his grand idea of fucking their problems away was a promise he could not keep.

“Sorry, Ro,” Dante said, defeated, exhausted, “Things didn’t turn out how I hoped.”—Dante gives an empty sigh—“At least let me finish you off.”

Dante could deal with an unresolved erection, it would hurt, but he would make due. It would be considered punishment for his stupid remarks, and even stupider actions. On the other hand, he would not forgive himself for making Roland go through that uncomfortable aching when it was his idea to start fooling around in the first place. After his own internal, personal pity party, Dante used his now free hands to grab Roland by the shoulders and guide him to a flipped position, so that he would be the one on top and Roland would lie below him. It was a bit awkward with the way his underwear still rested around his thighs, limiting his movement, so Dante quickly went away with them and tossed them aside. The way Roland’s right arm was still large and clunky in its vajra shape also caused some minor difficulties. Though Roland was still defensive and sporadic, there was no resistance or struggle or contest against Dante’s guidance. If anything, Roland seemed to have complied with the motion and shifted positions on his own.

For the first time during the night, Roland was just there, for the taking, a low growl rumbling from the back of his throat more so in pleading than as a threat. Blood lingered on his lips and chin from his brief feeding, but it was soon kissed away as Dante started at Roland’s lips, then trailed downward from his neck to his chest, from his chest to his abs, and finally from his abs downward, finishing his trail at the top of his crotch. The tip of his cock, still fully erect, had poked at Dante’s throat as he had made his way down.

Before he started, he pecked at the tip of Roland’s cock lovingly. Then, eyeing his man, watching the golden glare stare at him with a wanting gaze as he went down on him, Dante took the length into his mouth with ease.

‘ _Now it’s my turn to eat_ ,’ Dante thought to himself as he started to slowly bob his head up and down to test the waters and make sure that Roland was in fact ready to receive the remainder of his gift and they were not simply dealing with the eye of the storm. A sound neither of them had heard prior escaped past Roland’s lips. I was an unusual purring of delight and pleasure. Dante took that as a good sign, relaxed his throat, and started lifting his mouth up and down Roland’s dick faster, farther; his teeth gently grazing against the fleshy meat, and let the tip of his tongue push at the rim of his head when he was pulling out. There was a heat in Roland’s groin very different that the heat he would feel when tuning, transforming; it made his guts twist into knots and his dick throb.

Clutching and kneading the sheets of the bed with his human hand, Roland resisted the urge to start helping Dante along by moving his hips in unison with the motions, but he was too worried that, even though he was skilled, he would throw off his lover’s rhythm and flow, but he could not resist contorting in pleasure. He arched his head backward deep into the pillow as Dante pressed his dick to the roof of his mouth, rubbing it back and forth with the motion of his head. Any essence, even taste, of more precum that leaked from Roland’s slit was lost because it stuck to the back of his throat and the roof of his mouth away from his tongue, which was already slick with saliva.

The purring became louder as Dante continued to toy with Roland, every second something they could not hold in. Roland pleaded out his boyfriend’s name—“Dante, Dante, Dante”—his voice sounding more like his own natural voice than it had at any portion of the night. Heats became one, and so did pleasure and pain.

“Dante, I’m—”

But, the warning came too late. Roland filled Dante’s mouth with his essence.

Having succeeded, Dante swallowed then slowly and gently slid his mouth up his shaft one last time to release his hold over Roland. But, leaving himself unfulfilled, Dante parted with a few last sucks and pecks to the mere tip of Roland’s cock as if those few small acts would relieve his own aching and longing for relief. It became all to painfully aware just hold hard he was now that he had finished pleasuring his boyfriend. It must have shown on his face in twitches and looks of lust because soon after Roland responded with a quick quip.

“That doesn’t look comfortable. How about I help you?”

“No thanks, babe,” Dante said, pained and cursing at himself on the inside for letting go of a good chance to continue fucking, “That’s enough of you for tonight.”

That was a lie. Dante could have ravaged Roland into the ground. He could have broken the bed and dented the walls with how much force and will and desire he wanted to commit to the man, even if it was Roland that would have been doing most of the work since he had offered. Roland knew it too. He had been with the man long enough to know he had a one track mind when it came to stimulation and sex. But, Roland complies, much to Dante’s dismay, and cleans the man up a little bit by brushing away the hair that had fallen in Dante’s face and whipping away some of the drool and excess cum from his mouth. He did it with such a devilish grin—even though it was more so from the fact he was still berserk than anything else—that Dante had to excuse himself unless he was going to go back on his word.

“I’m, uh, gonna go walk the dog,” he said, and before Roland could do anything about it, Dante was up off of the bed and heading for the doorway. He helped himself to his clothes that had been discarded long before their entanglement and a spare key that was left on the dresser, then locked himself in the bathroom first before actually leaving. He truly did intend to leave Roland for the rest of the night, to let things settle down on their own because of the feasting fiasco parts, but his erection had gotten rather painful. Luckily for him he knew how to relieve it.

It was not until 11:21am that Dante returned to Roland, and Dante did not sleep through any of it. After taking care of himself in the bathroom of Roland’s room, Dante had gone off into the night to enjoy even simpler pleasures than his boyfriend: demon hunting. He had slain countless demons, loosing track around the one hundred and fifty mark. It actually might have been around the one hundred and sixty mark, but he was slaughtering the small fry too quickly, and his mind was not entirely in the battle. Even though he was far away from him, those pupil-less, golden eyes were burned into his mind’s eye. Every time he blinked he saw them, and every time he saw them he wanted to make it so that Roland never had to deal with it again. But, there was nothing he could do, and he knew it.

Fishing the spare key out of the pocket of his trademark long, leather coat, Dante stared down at the knob with worn, groggy eyes and started wishing away his woes and worries.

Nothing had changed since he had left the night before. The furniture was in its correct places, and there was not a piece of trash or debris to be discarded. For a second he wondered—when or if they both ever made it back to their own world and their own lives—if Roland would ever stop by to give the Devil May Cry office a bit of reorganizing. It actually should have been a code word for cleaning, but Dante was too used to the slight disarray that he could not think of it any other way.

With no regards to whether he was being quiet or noisy, Dante walked to the back where the bedroom lay. Half of him was expecting the room to be just as clean; the other half was expecting dents in the walls and a broken bed, something at least to show that Roland had actually gone through an imperfect, bestial transformation. But, Roland was simply lying naked on the bed. No longer was his right arm too large for his body in a shape that was foreign and alien for a human limb, and his skin had gone back to its regular tone; no signs of colored circuitry overlaying it like veins on top of his skin. Surely, his eyes too would be their natural, storm gray, but for now they were closed, so no one could say for sure.

Atop of bare sheets, Roland started to shift about and stir from the sounds of doors opening and closing on Dante’s behalf.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dante said a bit sarcastically, weariness evident.

Roland’s waking eyes went thin and his brow buckled in confusion as he rose from the sound of his boyfriend’s voice.

“Dante,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse but not anywhere near how unnatural he had sounded the night before, and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. Putting them on he continued, “You came back rather soon.”

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to scare me away, Ro.”—Dante found a nice spot on the side of the bed and sat down—“You know that.”

Normally, there would have been a scoff or a sigh or something as a response, but nothing of the sort came about. If Roland’s face was any indication, one of eyes avoiding any kind of contact and a mouth with a tired neutral expression, it was that something was on his mind and he was too engrossed with its hold over him to focus on being brash or cheeky. Visions of the night before came back to him full force, but it was not of any of the pleasurable parts. The only thing he could focus on was the sight of blood on Dante’s shoulder, parts of it missing from where he tore pieces off. He could feel the thick liquid pooling in his mouth as the taste of iron came back to him by the will of his imagination. Roland rubbed at his eyes under his glasses, buying time to ward off the sight.

At first, Roland opened his mouth to speak, but nothing but a hollow croaking came out. That was when Dante put his hand over Roland’s own hand in reassurance, stroking at the skin with his thumb to tell him it was okay, that if he did not want to talk, he did not have to, or if he did, he could. Although Roland could not muster the courage to look at his partner, Dante’s sight never wavered from their spot, gazing at Roland carefully and attentively. 

“I, I fed on you, Dante,” Roland finally said, “I ate pieces of you… …How could I?”

Roland whispered the remainders under his breath, too quiet for Dante to fully hear, but Dante did not need to. Roland might have been too horrified to banter with him playfully, but Dante let out a snort in response to Roland’s words.

“Yeah, well, I dined on some of you too,” Dante said in a teasing tone, “so we’re even.”

That response made Roland’s face twist and contort in uncertainty, but part of the twisting was putting a broad, authentic smile upon his mouth, so it also did bring him back to a more enjoyable state. Roland shoulders bounced in accordance with a few chuckles that resided behind closed lips. Then, once he was finished, a sigh.

“Next time, we fool around either fully human or fully demon,” Roland said, “I don’t think it was that great being in between.”

“Oh? I beg to differ,” Dante replied with a smug grin on his face. With a snort, Roland tosses his legs over the side of the bed and gets up to both start redressing himself and also ignore Dante a bit. Roland loved his boyfriend, but sometimes even he could not keep up or handle with his antics. It would just make him too flustered or too stupid, and right now he did not think he could deal with either option. Dante’s head follows his boyfriend as he walk in front and away from him, continuing his thoughts out loud in an overly confident tone: “Hey, no one died, so I’d say it was a successful fuck.”

As he put his boxers and pants back on, Roland just kind of surveyed Dante. He was grinning like a madman, wide and enthusiastic, but the bags around his eyes made the expression far less threatening. If anything, the contrast was funny. He propped himself up by leaning back onto his arms that rested far behind him. He looked like he needed to sleep, and he was hiding that fact poorly. So, Roland returned to him, shirtless, because he did not bother to locate one, and cupped the side of Dante’s jaw, it now starting to show signs of gruff, so it was prickly against the palm of Roland’s hand. Gently kissing him, Roland pushed against Dante so that he would get the hint to move back onto the bed and lie down flush, to which Dante complied and let out a happy groan. Neither of them needed to say anything—they both knew what they wanted—so they both drifted back into a deep sleep effortlessly, dreaming dreams of each other and days yet to come spent together.


End file.
